


Of Mice and Men

by ThorneofAcre



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Dialogue Heavy, Emotional, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Lots of drinking, Scenes which should have happened, Wine, planning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-01-17 19:42:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1400155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThorneofAcre/pseuds/ThorneofAcre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the time gap of three months between the ninth and tenth episodes.<br/>For this prompt on the kinkmeme: At some point between ep 9 and ep 10, they all sat down and Athos told them everything and so did d'Artagnan and Porthos and Aramis were very confused and they worked out this ridiculous plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Revelations.

**Author's Note:**

> So my mind started writing this fic after the first ten minutes of the show, as soon as we realized that it was all an act. The BBC can be quite mean sometimes. Smart, but mean.

“Wine. Where’s the wine?” Not surprisingly it was the first thing out of Athos’ lips as soon as he entered and closed the door behind him. Aramis cleared his throat and gestured behind him.

Captain Treville was sitting, legs splayed out and shoulders relaxed, dressed in a casual shirt and breeches. Athos bowed his head a little in acknowledgement and took a chair for himself.

“I’m sorry, I meant where’s the wine, _sir_?”

Porthos snickered and d’Artagnan got up and pulled out a bottle from one of the cupboards, rolling his eyes. He stood at the cupboard for a moment, contemplating something before shrugging and taking out two more bottles and glasses for all of them. He walked over and laid down his burdens on the table, pouring each of them a glass.

It had been a long _long_ day of riding back to Paris with the queen, enduring the king’s gratifying speeches addressed to the cardinal and suppressing the understandably stronger than ever urge to punch in the Cardinal’s face. They were all gathered in Treville’s rooms.

It was time to devise a plan to put an end to the Cardinal’s evil schemes once and for all.

“Right, now that we are all here,” Aramis said, standing in the middle of the room, hands clasped at his chest. “First off, whose idea was it to dress up _servants_ as musketeers to come to our extremely delayed and therefore useless rescue?”

Porthos grunted and d’Artagnan rolled his eyes. “If you must know, it was the captain’s.”

Aramis raised his eyebrows. “And what an amazing idea it was, sir!” He had been in the service of the king long enough to make a compliment sound more like an insult, with all due respect. “No one would have realized that they weren’t actually musketeers with how regally they carried themselves and what good shots they were.”

Athos grunted. “How is Sarge anyway?”

Aramis ran a hand through his hair. He had spent most of the day tending to the wounded cook. “He’ll pull through. He’s as stubborn as any musketeer I’ve ever met.”

Treville raised his glass at the man. “We did what we could at the time. Now, can we talk about what is to come?”

Athos shook his head. “Not drunk enough yet.”

Porthos shrugged. “Then we’ll start with what we found out. A promissory note was supposedly found I the Count’s luggage, put there probably by whoever killed the money lender in the first place.”

“It was a woman,” d’Artagnan put in. “The scent of jasmine was all over the place.”

Aramis snorted. “You know the scent of jasmine?”

D’Artagnan shrugged and grinned. “What? Disappointed you’re not the only one who’s popular with the ladies?”

“Anyway.” Treville’s long suffering sigh betrayed his impatience. He turned towards Athos who had drained off two glasses already. “You said that the box found on Gallagher’s belongings had the mark of a woman you knew?”

Athos nodded. “Yes.”

“Uh huh, care to elaborate on that?” Porthos said, an eyebrow raised.

Athos shrugged. “If you must know, she is my wife.”

There was a stunned silence before all three of his friends exclaimed simultaneously.

“The same woman who tried to kill you at the manor?”

“You’re married?”

“No wonder you don’t get laid!”

All three of them looked at each other before all eyes turned towards Aramis. “What?” Aramis asked. “I’ve often wondered why he never actually, you know…” he waved a vague hand in the air before throwing both hands in the air, “He’s married!”

Athos rolled his eyes at the dramatic gesture. “I tell you the murderess we are trying to locate and trap is my wife and that’s your first concern?”

“It answers a lot of questions, alright?” Aramis huffed, pretending to be offended.

Porthos turned towards the captain. “You don’t seem surprised?”

Treville shook his head. “I’d known Athos was married. Though from what he had told me, his wife had died.” He straightened in his chair. “D’Artagnan what was that about someone trying to kill someone at some manor, though? That’s news to me too.”

D’Artagnan flushed. “Umm. It’s not really my place to say…” he looked at Athos, a panicked look on his face when the Captain fixed him with a steely gaze.

Athos raised his hand and d’Artagnan immediately passed the remaining bottle to him. Aramis made a noise of protest as Athos drank directly from the bottle but d’Artagnan silenced him with a look. “He’s probably going to need it more than any of us.”

Athos nodded before putting the bottle down and wiping his mouth. “Well, here goes. Five years ago, I was the happily married Comte de la Fare. I hadn’t known the woman I had married was a thief and a murderess until one day I found her with my brother’s blood on her hands. He had found out the truth about her and she killed him for it.” Athos closed his eyes, wanting nothing more to not have to tell these men anything of his sordid past. But he had failed in his duty once. He wouldn’t do so again. She had to be brought to justice.

“What did you do?” Aramis’ voice was barely above a whisper.

Athos stared at the floor for a long while, silent. Then he looked up, looked the men who looked up to him as a leader in the eyes and continued, “I had a duty to uphold. Justice had to be done. I sentenced her to death. I ordered her to be hanged from a tree in the gardens…”

Aramis felt his heart clenching in sympathy at the anguish in his friend’s voice. He found himself making his way to Athos’ chair and kneeling in front of him. He put a hand on the older man’s knee, not sure of what to say.

“I’m sorry my friend. I never knew.” He squeezed his knee. “To lose a brother and to be forced to execute the woman you loved, it is not a fate I would wish upon the vilest of men, and you; you did not deserve it.”

Athos smiled bitterly. “And yet I must have, for it fell into my lot. It is your sympathy I don’t deserve.”

Porthos shook his head. “Nonsense. Don’t for a moment think we think any less of you for what you did.”

Athos looked at him, and he stared back with firm determination in his eyes. Atos looked back at Aramis, kneeling on the floor, and found the same love and determination in his eyes as well. Did these men not understand what he had done?

Aramis could read the self-disgust and doubt in his friend’s eyes all too well. He raised a hand and cupped his face. “Athos. You did what your duty demanded. Faced with a hard decision, you chose the honorable, the _right_ thing. How can you possibly think that we would fault you for doing that? Our respect and love for you has only increased with the knowledge of your past. A lesser man would have crumbled under the weight of such decisions, but you continue to live and do so with your morals intact. I look at you and I’m inspired. If I could be half the man you are, I would die content.”

Athos felt tears he had not shed in a long time flow freely from his eyes. Aramis wiped them away with a tender hand, the calluses on his palm soothingly chafing against his cheek. Athos looked into his eyes and the realization that he meant every word took his breathe away. He looked up at Porthos and the man nodded.

“I would have probably not said it as eloquently as Aramis, but you can’t possibly doubt our loyalty Athos.”

Athos looked at d’Artagnan, the only one of them who had known of what he had done and who had still seen something in him worth looking up to. Surrounded by men such as these, great honorable men whom he could never hold a candle to, and knowing that he had their utmost respect and loyalty moved something deep within him.

Athos felt the familiar weight of guilt and doubt and shame ebb away after so long, leaving him able to breathe again. Something of his transitioning emotions must have shown on his face for Aramis smiled. He dipped his head in acknowledgement and taking the bottle from Athos’ fingers stood up and walked over to the table.

“Right.” Treville looked from one man to another. They were a right stubborn lot. Idiots too. He smiled. “Now that part of the story, I was aware of. What I want to know is that how is the woman you hanged, going around Paris killing and slaughtering people?”

Athos leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

“She seduced the man who carried out the execution.” D’Artagnan spoke instead of Athos when the older man kept silent for too long. “He let her down before she died. She took to the streets and lived there until the cardinal found her. That mission with the Spanish slaver? We had had to make a pit stop at Athos’ mansion, then. She appeared there, tried to kill Athos and burned down his house.”

“That about sums it up,” Athos mumbled, fingers twisting around the necklace around his neck.

Aramis and Porthos had similar incredulous looks on their faces. “You could have died!”

“Thank god for d’Artagnan then. Him and his refusal to follow orders.” Athos waved a hand in the man’s direction and d’Artagnan raised his glass to him.

“You’re very welcome, _sir_ ,” he said, grinning.

“Wait,” Porthos said. “That woman at the hearing for the Comtesse de Larroque. What was her name? The one you seemed so angry at for no apparent reason?”

“Madame de la Chapelle,” Aramis said, nodding his head. He turned towards Athos. “That was her, wasn’t it?”

Athos nodded grimly, taking another glass and filling it up. “That was the first time I had seen her in Paris, ever since I found out she’s alive when she tried to kill me.”

Treville looked at his second in hand reproachingly. “And you didn’t think to tell us all this then?” Athos did not meet his eyes and Treville sighed. He understood why the man had been reluctant to share what he knew. Back when he had met him and Athos had told him about the disastrous end of his marriage, he had begged the captain not to say a word to anyone else. The man had some odd misconceptions about respect and honor. Treville was glad to see that the fear of losing his comrades’ had finally been put to rest by Aramis and Porthos. D’Artagnan it seemed, had known beforehand. Still, there could be no more withholding information if they were to succeed in whatever plan they cooked up. He cleared his throat, “Any other contact any of you have with this woman in the future, you will tell the rest of us immediately.”

A chorus of ‘yes sirs,’ sounded through the room. Aramis looked resolute. “Well, at least now we know what she looks like.”

D’Artagnan looked at Athos at that. “Actually, I wasn’t at the trial. She showed up there?” Athos nodded.

“She was the main witness the cardinal used to condemn the Ninon.” Athos glared inside the glass. “Once again, an innocent lost everything she held dear because of that woman’s evil.”

“If you knew, why didn’t you say anything? We could have saved her life! Broken her out, or something!”

Porthos chuckled and Aramis shook his head, grinning. “Relax lad. She never died. We got there in time to _persuade_ the cardinal to let her go.”

Treville rose his eyebrows at that. “I would have given my left arm to see _that_.”

There was an uncomfortable silence as Aramis and Porthos looked at Athos who did not meet their eyes. It had been one of the lowest points in Athos’ life, being on his knees in front of a man he loathed with all his being. It had gone against everything he believed in and stood for. That was one thing he was never going to tell anyone, much less d’Artagnan.

D’Artagnan had the sense to change the topic lest the Captain became unduly curious. He knew how his friends operated. He had seen how _persuasive_ they could be in the past. “But I still don’t know what she looks like. How will I know who she is if she ever comes up to me.”

“She’s tall, fair, with dark hair,” Aramis supplied helpfully. “Quite pretty actually.”

“And how is that supposed to help?” D’Artagnan asked, arms crossed in front of him, standing in front of the table.

Porthos nodded thoughtfully, “He has a point.”

Everyone turned towards Athos. “What?” Athos asked. “I don’t have a portrait of her or anything!”

“Well, we can all lament Athos’ lack of romantic sentiments when she walks up to the boy and guts him or something,” Aramis quipped, his harsh words only softened by a cheeky grin.

Athos rolled his eyes. “Alright fine. She would be wearing a necklace, or something to cover the marks the rope has left on her throat. Her signature flower is the forget-me-not. She used to leave those all over the house for me to find. That was how I knew of her involvement with Gallagher, the box he had had a forget-me-not stuck to a side. Anything else you want to know?”

He looked at d’Artagnan in exasperation which soon turned into concern.

The young man’s face had gone completely white and he wobbled dangerously. D’Artagnan swallowed, trying to breathe.

“D’Artagnan?” Aramis called out, concern etched on his face as well.

“She… _She’s_ your wife?” His voice was barely over a whisper as he looked at Athos, eyes pleading for him to be wrong. Athos stood up and walked to the Gascon. He grabbed him by the arms and guided him to the chair he had vacated, sitting him down.

“D’Artagnan, what is it?”

D’Artagnan looked up at the man bent over him. “The first night I arrived in Paris, I went to an inn and she was there and we… we spent the night together.”

Athos stared at the young man and the horror on his face. He straightened abruptly and turned away.

“I didn’t know, Athos. I didn’t know!” d’Artagnan’s voice pleaded for him to understand. “I noticed the scars on her neck, she told me the man she had loved tried to kill her… Oh _God_ , I’m so _so_ sorry Athos.”

Aramis and Porthos both had shocked expressions on their faces. Aramis cleared his throat when Athos did not speak for a long time. He didn’t think the kid was to blame. How could he have known who the woman was? He hadn’t even met _Athos_ then, much less know anything of his depressing love life.

Athos must have realized that for he turned to face the young Gascon who was almost on the point of tears. “It isn’t your fault.” he said, “you’re right. You didn’t know. I’m not angry at you. It’s just… She killed my brother, you know. And she could have… She wouldn’t have thought twice before killing you too.”

He knelt down and looked the Gascon straight in the eyes. “She’s a very _very_ dangerous woman, d’Artagnan. Murdering and hurting others comes naturally to her. I want you to keep that in mind in case you ever see her again, though now that she knows you’re with us, with me, she wouldn’t dare show her face to you.”

D’Artagnan looked at him, stricken. Athos noticed the expression on the man’s face and he sighed. “What is it?”

D’Artagnan swallowed. “I know exactly how dangerous she could be. When I woke up that morning at the inn, she had disappeared, having killed the man she had been with and leaving a bloodied knife to implicate me. Since then, she’s turned up several times. Once she killed two guards who were after me for the whole Vadim thing. And she has shown up at Constance’s house too. Called herself Milady de Winter, left a bunch of some blue flowers for me.”

Athos sucked in a sharp breathe and Porthos and Aramis stilled at the Gascon’s words. Treville looked ready to start hitting each of them for having such convoluted and difficult secrets.

“Wait, is _she_ the wealthy patroness who sponsored your entry into the competition against the Red Guards?” Aramis exclaimed.

D’Artagnan nodded, his cheeks red with shame and embarrassment. He had taken the money of such a woman. He vowed that he would pay her back as soon as possible, right before he would stick his sword in her. He laid a hand on Athos’ arm to get his attention. “Athos?”

Athos did not meet his eyes for a long moment. He hadn’t known that he still had any faith left in the God that had forsaken him a long time ago, but now he found himself thanking Him for looking out for the idiotic Gascon and not getting him killed. The thought of losing him, of losing another brother… Athos didn’t think he would be able to survive that. He looked at the young man’s contrite shamed face and had the insane desire to punch him. Why was he so adamant about apologizing for things he had no control over?

“I’m going to say this once, so you better listen carefully. You’re not to blame. You did not know. I’m glad you weren’t hurt and I should be the one apologizing to you lot for not coming clean about the whole mess earlier. A lot of things could have been avoided had I trusted my friends enough to know that they wouldn’t think any less of me for my past,” he paused to look at each of them in turn. All of them nodded, accepting his apology and forgiving him instantly. Feeling lighter than he had felt in years, he continued, “Now, that being said, I’m going to punch you the next time you apologize to me. I can’t have you treating me like that. It’s just not right.”

Aramis and Porthos grinned and Treville let out a short laugh.

D’Artagnan smiled. “So we’re good?”

Athos was silent for a moment, before meeting his eyes and nodding. “Yeah kid. We’re good.” He stood up, ruffling the man’s unruly hair. D’Artagnan jerked away from his touch with an indignant protest and Aramis and Porthos smiled at the familiar exchange.

“Does anyone else have any kind of relationship with any mysterious lady that they need to share?” Porthos asked, looking at Aramis with both eyebrows raised.

Aramis and Athos glanced at each other, before Aramis looked away, shaking his head. “Captain?” Porthos asked.

Treville let out a very undignified snort. “Listening to all your dramatic stories makes me glad I married young. What has the world come to, I wonder…,” he said, sighing with exaggerated sorrow, before smiling. “Anyway, now that all of us are aware of who the enemy is, any further contact should be reported immediately. Is that clear?”

All of them nodded. “Good,” Treville continued. “I think we have had enough revelations for tonight. It’s been a long day. I suggest all of you get some rest and give the entire matter some thought. We know that the Cardinal uses this Milady de Winter as his agent and that she knows Athos and d’Artagnan personally. We will continue this at a later date, when all of us have wrapped our heads around all the details and are a little more sober.” He stood up, and all the musketeers straightened immediately, despite their inebriated state.

‘Right,” Porthos said, stifling a mighty yawn, “We should get going.”

All four of them trudged out, going to their respective rooms to ‘give the matter some thought and wrap their heads around all the details,’ as the captain had suggested.

All of them hit their respective beds and promptly fell asleep.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

In the month since the near death experience with the queen, the Royal Pain of a mission as Porthos had started calling it, there wasn’t a single time Porthos ate fish, claiming even the smell of it being cooked put his stomach off completely.

They had been very busy lately, and hadn’t gotten time enough to make any further plans. Whatever time they did seem to have, Athos and d’Artagnan had taken to spending drinking together at the tavern. The men had grown closer than ever in the weeks since the shocking revelations which still induced headaches for Aramis if he thought too closely about them, and now there was rarely a night when one did not accompany the other at getting completely and utterly wasted.

Aramis had asked the lad once why he was so intent on following in Athos’ drunken footsteps to an early grave. D’Artagnan had looked into his glass morosely.

“I have a thing for married women.”

“Including my wife,” Athos, sitting across from him on the small table had said and raised his own glass in salute.

D’Artagnan had shrugged and drained his glass before refilling both of theirs’. Aramis had walked away.

After that, he had never asked.

The whole mess with Constance had come out in bits and pieces. The bitterness had worn off after a few days, giving way to disbelief and heartbreak and one night, a few days after the Royal Pain of a mission, Aramis had opened the door of his room to find d’Artagnan slumped at his doorstep, half drunk with wine, half with sorrow. Aramis had led him inside and laid him down on his bed. D’Artagnan had allowed himself to be manhandled, as Aramis had taken his boots off and gotten rid of his uniform. Aramis had pulled up a chair then. And sat beside the young man.

“I’m from a noble family, you know that?” d’Artagnan had asked, blinking at the ceiling. “Charles Ogier de Batz de Castelmore, at your service.”

Aramis had raised an eyebrow at the vague hand gestures which he supposed were meant to be a curtsy. “De Batz? Where does d’Artagnan come from then?”

“My mother’s family. Françoise de Montesquiou d'Artagnan was her name. She was of a noble house as well.”

“And what may I ask brought about this sudden interest with nobility?”

D’Artagnan had sat up, and reached for Aramis’ hand, encircling his wrist in such tight fingers that Aramis had to suppress a grimace. “I’m _not a nobody_ A’amis. She would have nothing to do with me because I have no prospects, no wealth, no name!”

Aramis had shaken his head and frowned. “Anyone who tells you that your name decides what kind of man you are is both shallow and superficial or they’re lying. Porthos knows nothing of his father. Would you say he isn’t anything but a great man?”

D’Artagnan had looked horrified at the idea and had shaken his head so emphatically that he had to clutch it a second later to stop the world from spinning. Aramis had reached out to brush away the strands that had fallen onto his eyes. “Greatness lies within d’Artagnan. If there isn’t greatness in you, then you’ll never amount to much, no matter what your name is.”

D’Artagnan had smiled bitterly. “Tell that to _her_.”

“About that. I can’t actually believe she said that to you.”

“You and me both, my friend.” D’Artagnan had leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes, not letting go of Aramis’ hand, though his grip did loosen a bit. “We had been so happy. I hadn’t asked anything of her, not forced her to choose between her husband and her happiness. All I had wanted was to be with her, to be near her, to hear her smile and laugh and to see the color rise in her cheeks when she was angry or embarrassed. That’s all I had wanted…”

Aramis had had to blink away the tears which threatened to fall from his own eyes listening to the anguish in his young friend’s voice. His heart clenched painfully and he wished for an insane irrational moment that he could just wave some magic wand and give the boy his happiness again. D’Artagnan was too full of life to be this defeated and heart broken.

He reached out and wiped away the tears that were flowing down the lad’s cheeks, surprising the man. He had not noticed he had been crying. D’Artagnan had looked away, ashamed. “God, I’m such a pathetic mess.”

Aramis had smiled silently and moved to sit on the bed, pulling the younger man towards him. D’Artagnan had stiffened for a moment but then a pair of strong arms had come up and grasped Aramis and he had buried his face into his neck and _cried_. Aramis had let him get it all out, whispering reassurances, rocking both of them slowly, not letting go for even a second. For a long long time, they had sat like that, Aramis holding the boy as he slowly fell apart. Once the sobs had subsided and the tears seemed to have run dry, Aramis had pulled back and looked at the puffy eyes and the red nose.

“Don’t lose faith d’Artagnan. Even if she doesn’t love you back, find comfort in the fact that you love her and be happy. We don’t always get what we want, and that is when we should learn to have faith and not lose hope.”

D’Artagnan had smiled tearfully at him and nodded, too spent to speak. Aramis had helped him lay down and pulled the blankets over him, the Gascon going to sleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

Aramis had sighed at the sight of the sleeping man, his relaxed features making his face appear even younger and more innocent and settled for sleeping on the floor.

Come morning, Aramis had woken up to find a very _very_ hungover and mortified d’Artagnan, ready to apologize in seven different languages for imposing upon Aramis. Aramis had cuffed him on the head and told him to stop being an idiot.

Then a very carefully worded promise of never to reveal the details of all that transpired from the time d’Artagnan had stumbled into Aramis’ lodgings to right this moment to anyone outside the two of them had been given by Aramis and received by d’Artagnan.

 

XXX

“No, that is most definitely _not_ the plan that we are going with!” d’Artagnan growled, finger in Porthos’ face.

“We can’t very well call Madame Bonacieux,” Aramis said, with a sigh.  “And you’re the only one who can pull it off.” He spread his arms in a ‘we would if we could, but we can’t’ gesture.

“Besides, you’re the newbie. You got to do as we say.” Porthos crossed his arm and looked grimly at the younger man, before turning and winking at Aramis.

 “I saw that. And no matter what you say or how new I am, I. Am. Not. Getting. Into. A. _Dress_.”

All of them snickered but then Athos raised a soothing hand. “As hilarious as that would be, we can’t unfortunately go with that plan. The duke is reputed to be quite a devout man and rumor is he does not even bed his wife, much less other women.”

“Yeah, I can never get men like him,” Porthos grumbled.

Aramis shrugged. “They’re idiots. Making love is an act of faith, God does not ask us to deny ourselves.”

“An act of faith,” Porthos repeated, nodding sagely. He grinned, “Nice.”

“Gents. The issue at hand?” Athos directed their attention towards the map lying on the desk. They were all standing around it, looking at the outlay of the duke’s house. A favorite courtier had approached the king asking for assistance. He was being blackmailed by a duke, who had gotten some letters he had written to his childhood sweetheart, which if shown to his wife could destroy his marriage, and was holding them over his head. The duke however was a very generous contributor to the king’s treasury and Louis did not want to lose his favor by publicly ordering him to hand over the letters.

Naturally it had fallen to Treville to discreetly take care of the matter. Also naturally, that meant it was Athos’ responsibility to see it through.

They needed to get in the duke’s manor, undetected; find out where a certain pile of incriminating letters were kept, undetected; steal them, undetected; and get out, undetected.

The captain had been very adamant about the part about remaining undetected.

“Alright. How about this…”

A while later:

“That’s awesome,” d’Artagnan whispered. Athos beamed. Or he did the Athos equivalent of beaming, he quirked his lips slightly upwards and narrowed his eyes a little, to make it _look_ like he was smiling.

Aramis was still scratching his beard, his face stuck between ‘ _I_ _don’t believe that’s going to work’_ and _‘oh God I really want to see if they fall for_ that _.’_ Porthos was staring at the map, intent on learning it.

They fell for it.

The plan went off without a hitch and two days later it was a very satisfied four musketeers who occupied Treville’s office, a bunch of letters on his desk. The captain picked up the letters, and raised an eyebrow.

“Gentlemen, I congratulate you on another mission well done, which no one would ever know of.”

Athos bowed his head a little while Aramis grimaced. Treville looked at the man. “What?”

Aramis looked away. Porthos chuckled. “Let’s just say sir, we’re not overtly against the idea of no one finding out about this one.”

Athos suppressed a snicker and both Aramis and d’Artagnan shot Porthos a deathly glare. Treville waved a dismissive hand. “I’m sure you did what you had to,” he paused at the completely undignified squeal which escaped d’Artagnan and Athos’ very loud throat clearing. Changing his mind, he continued, “And I’m _not_ going to ask. But we have another matter to discuss.”

There was a palpable shift in the tension in the room. Athos, who had been leaning against the bookshelf straightened and Aramis stopped fiddling with his hat and stood still. Treville got up and closed the door before continuing. “I have convinced the king to not take any rash action against the count, but Richelieu seems determined to see him hanged. He pesters the king everyday at court. I’m concerned that time may run out for the count before we can bring down the Cardinal. What have you gentlemen come up with?”

Athos shifted slightly, Aramis looked away and Porthos shrugged. D’Artagnan kept staring at his hands. It was Athos who spoke. “We don’t, strictly speaking, have a plan yet.”

Treville levelled him with an unimpressed look.

“We know that to get to the Cardinal, we need to get Milady de Winter,” Aramis concurred.

“And I’ve had people keeping tabs on her,” Porthos put in. “We have a rough sketch of the places that she frequents, thanks to my friends at the Court.”

Athos sighed. “But she is hardly going to admit to anything, not even if we torture her.” Aramis and Porthos glanced at him sharply.

Treville sat back in his chair. “So you have nothing?”

D’Artagnan cleared his throat. “Well, I won’t say _nothing_ …”

“D’Artagnan.” Athos’ tone warned of a lot of pain if he the boy did not stop speaking and it caught Treville’s interest.

“Athos, if there’s nothing else then we have to go with it!” D’Artagnan did not back down, glaring back at the older musketeer.

“Absolutely not. Your plan is ridiculous and farfetched, not to mention suicidal. She will never fall for it,” Athos growled.

D’Artagnan sighed and turned towards Treville.

Treville ran a hand over his face. If Athos thought it was suicidal, even asking would probably be a waste of time. But then Athos had a habit of discarding any course of action as unacceptable which put the Gascon even slightly at risk. And with his wife’s involvement with the boy, Treville could bet his left arm that he wasn’t thinking clearly. He took a deep breath and motioned at d’Artagnan.

“Let’s hear it then.”

 


End file.
